


After Midnight

by insanityinside



Category: Midnight - Osamu Tezuka
Genre: How Do I Tag, Not tagging as Black Jack crossover bc he's only in one scene, Spoilers, a failed attempt, also they meet in canon, first person as an attempt to avoid gendered pronouns, just me trying to deal with that ending, lots of identity weirdness, questionable character death, some gender weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanityinside/pseuds/insanityinside
Summary: Someone once asked me,‘Do you believe that we can be reborn into another body? And remember who we were before we were born?’I didn’t. But that was in another life.
Kudos: 1





	After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> So during lockdown I found myself falling down the rabbithole of old obscure manga and ended up finding one of the most underrated things I've ever read. And then I got to the last chapter and, seriously, what even is that ending? One chapter is about the guy playing chicken against a tree and winning and in the next one THIS happens? Yeahhh, I wrote this to process that ending, so... SPOILER WARNING!
> 
> (Also, I'd like to say that this was strangely difficult to tag. And I still don't know if anybody's going to find it...)

Someone once asked me,

_‘Do you believe that we can be reborn into another body? And remember who we were before we were born?’_

I didn’t. But that was in another life.

* * *

One of the first things I see in my new life is the patchwork face of Black Jack, looking pleased with himself. His little experiment is going pretty well, even if it doesn’t feel that way at first. He pays me regular visits to observe my slow, painful recovery. To my surprise, some of the first things I hear are words of encouragement.

When I’m well enough to try to talk back, he brings me some news from the outside world.

‘This might interest you,’ he says ‘I’ve heard that Shinya Tsuchiura was burried on the family estate in Brazil.’

Of course we both know that this man never existed, and I, for want of a better term, still live.

‘Wish I could... be there...’ Talking is still a pain.

‘Why is that?’

I try to say something about how that way there would at least be someone at the funeral who could actually mourn the loss, but I’m not sure he can understand me.

‘Plus...’ I add ‘It’d make Sis sweat.’

‘Fair enough,’ he says with a small laugh ‘That nasty grin doesn’t suit your pretty face, though.’

Oh. Right. Sometimes I still forget. This body... And what it means... A tear rolls slowly down my cheek and I can’t even move my hand to wipe it off.

‘Wait... Why are you crying?’

I blink the tears out of my eyes and glare at him. I want to shout ‘Don’t you see what you’ve done?! You ripped out her brain to do this! You ruined all hope of her ever coming back!’ and then maybe even ‘You killed her!’ But that’s a lot of words.

‘M-Mari...’ i whisper instead.

‘Oh, come on!’ he says ‘ _Now_ you’re gonna mourn her death? After all those times I’ve had to get up at ridiculous hours only to hear a stubborn bastard shout at me about beating hearts?! _Now_ you say she’s dead?’

‘But then... Mid - ’

‘Oh, _no_. Don’t you _dare_. After all the work I’ve put into keeping that brain of yours alive...’

‘But... ?’

He shrugs.

‘There are all kinds of stories about transplant patients developing new tastes and personality traits to match the donors. You are basically a whole body transplant. Who knows what’s going to happen?’

But when he shows up again, a few months later, while I’m making my first steps as this new person, he claims that he didn’t really mean any of that.

‘Why’d you say it then?’

He shrugs again.

‘I guess I don’t like to see people give up.’

* * *

They don’t want to let me go to the junkyard on my own, but I insist on seeing it one last time. One day I’m finally allowed to go, accompanied by the professor and a doctor from the hospital.

The car is a burnt-out wreck, barely recognizable. Before they can stop me, I grab at a handle on a door. Of course, it won’t open. It won’t let me in. Just another sign that there is no going back to the life I remember. Out of the corner of my eye I see something small moving near the other end of the wreck. When I turn my head, a small bird flies out of the half-open trunk.

‘Wagtails!’ I can’t help laughing. Behind me the two old men exchange looks. ‘They have returned to their ancestors’ nest!’

‘What’s wrong with her?’ the professor asks, concerned ‘If she loses her mind now, my entire project is doomed!’

But I don’t stop laughing like a madman... madwoman... whatever.

‘It’s all going to be alright! Nature is healing!’ My laugh sounds just like Mari’s and it’s only right that she should laugh at this. After all, this is the side of me - of _him_ – that I – _she_ – always found funny and endearing.

On the way back into the city I tell them about the birds. They tell me off for talking about it in the first person and for speaking too much like a man. They tell me those memories will fade with time, but for now they are quite clear. So maybe I’m still myself, in the morning sunlight, in the passenger seat, in a body that’s not my own?

Either way, I’ve seen the last thing connecting me to that life lost forever. I don’t really have much choice, but to accept the professor’s offer. This is why he insisted on saving me... or him... or my brain. Whether I like it or not, this is now my purpose in life. At this point I’m not sure what exactly my job is. I’m pretty sure you need some kind of diploma to be a researcher, and I don’t even have a birth certificate. But apparently I’m not just a test subject, either. But by now I’m used to not being quite sure who I am.

I move into a new place, near the university. There’s a busy street just outside the thin wall of my apartment. I fall asleep listening to the familiar sounds of late-night traffic and wake up in the morning with a head full of dreams that are no longer my own.

* * *

After a while, new memories come flooding in. I remember a middle class home with two loving parents. Going to a good high school and actually paying attention in class. Working part-time at the restaurant in the evenings. A young man looking at me from across the counter with a dopey grin. Dopey? Wasn’t it roguish? Oh, well...

Sometimes it feels weird to remember the same moment from two different perspectives. It’s like I’m looking myself in the eye without a mirror. Sometimes I can almost hear the two sides of me talking to each other in my head, each in their own voice. Sometimes I need to talk about it to someone who isn’t me.

‘You can’t be two people, Maya’ the professor says. I chose this name myself, but I’m still not used to being called by it. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘You don’t _know_ how it works,’ I retort ‘Nobody does.’ I’m starting to get the hang of this whole science thing. The world is actually full of things, even perfectly mundane ones, that science cannot yet explain. That’s why research is still a thing. Right now this gives me hope. ‘There’s never _been_ anyone like me before. You don’t _know_ what I can or can’t be!’

But what if the old man was onto something? Soon my memories, _his and hers_ , start blurring together, forming a past that never was. The strangest thing is that I still remember remembering things differently. They tell me all this is to be expected. Eventually, I will be a whole new person and both of these identities will fade away. I’m supposed to believe that Mari has been dead for a long time and that Midnight will soon be gone. But how can this be, when his brain is still alive and her heart still beats?

* * *

I’ve got my own corner at the institute now. An old framed photograph sits on my desk. A girl making a cute face at the camera and a young man grinning with his arm around her shoulder.

‘Who’s that?’ A coworker picks up the picture.

‘Oh...’ For a moment I hesitate. ‘That’s... me.’

‘Ah. I see.’ There is still a resemblence after all. ‘And who is that, next to you?’

I could tell her to mind her own business. I could lie. I probably should, really.

‘That’s... also me...’ I cringe at how weird it must sound, even to someone who studies the paranormal for a living.

‘Oh!’ To my surprise, she smiles. ‘The professor did say you channel the spirits of a pair of dead lovers. That’s so romantic, how they can be together again! You gotta tell me more!’

I don’t bother to argue. I guess this is as close as it gets. But deep down inside I know that his brain is still alive, thinking my thoughts, and her heart still beats within my chest.


End file.
